Rants, Facepalms, and Things Left Unsaid
by The Ultimate Person
Summary: Tom, a darkspawn, vents on life, meaning, and happy things.
1. Darkspawn

**AN: I dont even know why I wrote this. All remember was that is was 2 am in the morning, I had glass of some strange herbal tea, and my fingers were typing away like mad. Maybe a one-shot, maybe not. Might be good, might not. I do know one thing though: **

**I've got REALLY got to stop taking inspiration from sarcastic brits.**

* * *

><p>Twenty years old today. Woo.<p>

Yeah, I'm ecstatic. Really. Knowing that I was just popped out of a vagina big enough to swallow a small village with 300 other fellows is really comforting to me really. I still behold the beloved memories of suddenly being given a sword barely after being born, being told that I should start swinging it a lot until I hear strange gushy sounds. And it's nice to know after twenty years of groveling in a never-ending tunnel filled with angry midgets, I get to live another few years of the same exact thing before going out in a flame of pretty colors.

I'm Tom. I'm a Hurlock, by the way. And I've realized a few things.

Now, personally, I'm usually not the type to contemplate my naval and go into psychological foreground whenever I come across a piece of toast. But I aside from a few awkwardly disproportioned doodles, what else could I possibly fill a journal with? So what better than the observation of meaning and purpose. That always seems to get everyone's knickers in a twist.

By the way, a Hurlock is a darkspawn. Yes. _Those_ cranky old fellows.

To be honest, being a darkspawn isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Though, I believe I've never actually come across anyone who has actually ever appealed to the idea, aside from perhaps a few eccentric cannibals or the vicious killing sort. With them, I'm sure it's all shits and giggles and lollipops. Even then, it sure gets rather tedious and boring really fast.

I'm also pretty sure that were the most expendable thing since bricks were invented.

Oh, why do you think we have mothers that compete with the size of whales? I'm sure as hell it isn't for aesthetics. We were born to run ourselves into sharp objects. Maybe we'll squeal and flail a sword around before doing so, but that is pretty much the goal of it all. For the violent type, it's all probably fun, but there's absolutely no doubt that in one second, without even knowing, you'll run into a fellow with extensive knowledge of fireballs.

We weren't built to kill. We were built to be killed.

Now, if that hasn't already gotten your jollies all up, life before that point isn't really the most exciting. Oh, shocking. Really, the only variation in our fantastic flailing lives diverges into two roads. The rest that spring off from each is just how creatively you'll be dismembered.

Perhaps you decide to wander the surface. First you're all "Wow, everything is so spacious. And slightly less brown. Holy shit, what's that fluffy stuff? What's that doing all the way up there?" It's all rather thrilling, what with all the air and the . . . well, air. Maybe they'll also be some tall green and brown structures and some big-ass candle in the sky, but aside from that, I'm sure the excitement of it all dies down pretty fast. There's also the fact that everyone up there is actually more than 4 feet tall, which does come as a problem. As well as the fact there are grey wardens. Much like us, but without all the malevolent rage, deadly hunger, and lack of dental hygiene. Not so much the fact their actually any more powerful than the next group, but more so for their dedication. They apparently have darkspawn blood cocktail parties on Wednesdays and use our skulls for bowling on Fridays. Now while all those activities all sound rather delightful, I would prefer to do it with all my head and bodily fluids intact, thanks.

Second line of work would to be to stay amongst the masses underground, the one in which I've been so wonderfully graced with. It's where most of us pitted within, left to run through tunnels and poke the occasional inanimate midget. Really the second you crawl from your mother's cavernous fetus of mystery; it's all left up in the air for us. Motivation? Well, we're alive, so we should probably do some things. Justification? We do get hungry. Other than nicely seasoned rocks, living flesh is the next best thing. Survival? Hey, instincts and a reproductive system is all you really need. We live because we look at fellow and think "Hm, I wonder what he would be like with a side of butter." Or a girl and think "Oh, she's pretty. I wonder how pretty she'll be when she's 10,000 pounds above weight with a set breast growing everywhere fricking possible".

Don't let any of our past history or battle strategy fool you. We only got where we were because a slightly smarter fellow said "No, you don't stick your sword there, you stick it _there_".

So, I come to a conclusion. In the end, we really are just animals. The only difference is that we have opposable thumbs and really crappy population control. Sure, there's a blight once in a while, and everyone's squealing like school girls on meth. But it's no different. The archdemon is still just an animal but with anger management issues and inflammatory morning breath. In other cultures, I'm sure he's an almighty god of some sort, but would a god really let a group of fellows with horrible skin conditions and a case of mega herpes just take himself over like that? And in any case, he never actually succeeds. In one second, his command could go from_ "Barricade the warden and try to flank them from the back"_ to _"Ow ow ow sword ow ow ow."_

Nothing all too fancy, just animals. And like an other animal posed as a nuisance, we're put down. That's how it is with just about any animal.

Unless we were pandas. **But fuck pandas.**

Though of course, we press on. Why? Because instinct looks at logic and than thinks "Hey, that looks like a convenient thing to piss on." It's the only thing to rely on since there really isn't anything else to do besides go on crazy suicidal kamikaze mission every other weekend. And no silly chantry can make up an actual coherent explanation, unless it involved illegal substances and interpretational dance.

Perhaps I'm just jaded. I'm just venting out frustration into some journal I found next to a dead guy. Hell, I feel as I though I've only become recently sentient of my own being just a few a hours ago for unknown reasons, some unknown force. But it came to me that for twenty years, I've scooped up ogre droppings and snacked on strangely shaped limb pieces for no real apparent reason or purpose. And for once that has bothered me.

I considered taking it up with an authority, but then it dawned on me that authority was pretty much determined by who could shout incoherently about vegetables for longest amount while looking crossed. So that idea was scratched.

I might as well compile it all into a statement then; I don't like being a darkspawn. Now, before you scream, "NO really?" in a not all obnoxiously sarcastic tone, realize that this has never really crossed my mind before. I feel extremely confused, yet at the same time, I see things more clear light, if that even makes any sense. This feeling of thought, clarity, rationalization, it all seems together. Like I can actually do something now.

I've also realized I'm kind of a jack ass. Thanks journal.


	2. Liability

**AN: Huh. I've updated. Written at a much more resonable time with much more normal tea, which may be a good thing or a bad thing. Nevertheless, reviews are very much appreciated. Update is hopefully good enough. Must take note to buy more peaches.**

* * *

><p>Look journal, I'm not a bigot. Just to get things straight and clear. I pride myself the type who looks down on rocks the same way I look down upon pretty much anything else. Though recently, I have somewhat appointed myself worldly observer. AKA, that guy that points at everything and goes "Ha ha!" and makes overly obscene comments on their mother's. Despite that, I would like to think I could comment on things without any sort of prejudice or personal quarries.<p>

Though another thought had run through my mind yesterday. Damn, that's been happening a lot recently.

One of the vanguard's libidos was particularly lacking today, so he decided to send a capture mission for more broodmothers. I, not really having anything better to do than pick apart some old dead bloke that I had conveniently named Timmy, was placed on the mission. It was very vague. Basically, just go out to the surface, find a nice set of hips, whack into submission, then profit. We all pretty much shrugged it off. Details were unnecessary.

And so we headed up towards the airy surface and all its airy air-ness. And, of course, like a young village boy shouting out his rather "unusual" sexual preference in the middle of his village square full of strictly religious prigs, we garnered attention, by a group of four adventurers no less. (Apparently, four seems to be the default number for adventuring these days) I would have been worried, if I weren't backed up by over two dozen darkspawn. They did teach us basic math in the deep roads. The ratio comparison of 25 angry darkspawn to four people usually equaled screwed.

One of the men was pretty much gnawed on as nice mid afternoon snack. The other was more for midnight. To our best of luck, the other half of them turned out to be female. Females with swords and freeze rays, but hey, not everything can be peaches and tea. With a bit of perseverance and several more whacks of submission than usual, comatose and success was reached.

Now despite the fact that half of me is still having freezer burn and won't be able move for the next two and a half hours, I felt a strange pang of sympathy for the women. In a world where the women are ballsy enough to practically punch everything in the face, I can't blame them for trying to take on darkspawn. Hardly anyone knows what we "do" with the woman anyways, so their pretty much leading themselves their doom without even knowing.

Shouldn't they have a PTSA for this type of stuff?

So as we presented our possible broodmother volunteers to our giddy school girl of a vanguard, I had finally formulated what my next topic was going to be about: Sexism.

Now, back to the main point journal, what ever your ambiguous paper sexuality, know that I'm not a sexist. Yeah, I come from a society where all the men are brain dead lumps of coal and all the women are hulking monstrosities only a peg down from the ones you see on "I didn't know I was pregnant", but let's forget that for a second. (Maker, PLEASE, let's forget that)

From what I get of the societies outside of the ones that are psychotic, woman are respected beings held up to the same status as men. Really, that's all just peaches. I'm sure such societies function well in order and seem to appreciate the efforts pooled in by both sexes.

There's a flaw however.

Look, unless you somehow managed to fall sleep during "icky sex bits" class, you realize our broodmothers are all female. Yes, what with all the flailing tentacles and their boobs looking like flappy mounds of death, they are actually female. And may I note, broodmothers can only give birth to male darkspawn. No female darkspawn. So, where do we get our females from? A vending machine?

Nope. We steal other species woman.

Nature is most certainly a **bitch.**

That's right. And do it in such a freaky bizarre way that puts antivan "meat-sandwiches" to shame. In battle, we eat the fallen men. They're the lucky ones. However, we don't kill the woman. We steal them away to our little love tunnels and forcefully stick-

_*The journal seems to have several blocked out area, mainly blotched out by ink blots, possibly out of shame and disgust. The following text is strange and disjointed*_

-butter is then involved during- ***censor*** -there's a lot uncomfortable rubbing when- ***censor*** - but then you have to replace the butter with yogurt and- ***censor*** -Orlesian bards add a nice mood when- ***censor*** -that's why we have to use over two dozen nugs when we- ***censor*** -We kind of gave up all the whips and chains when we found out some people were into that- ***censor*** -Then we have to use butter AND yogurt and- ***censor* *censor* *censor* *CENSOR***

_*The text than goes back to being somewhat normal enough for children*_

And after all the blood and various food items are cleaned off, wa-la, she's a whole new woman, pumping out 60 babies an hour and while crushing dwarves to death and scrap booking in her free time. Of course, this should be seen as warning signal to most. While woman are very appreciated in warfare, they should obviously not be fighting against darkspawn, lest you risk them becoming "Broody" housewives. (Heh. I made a funny) without any means of disrespect, darkspawn fighting should be a strict penis-only ordeal so that they lower the risk of creating more broodmothers. That would seem like a smart-

Waitaminute . . .

HEY, remember what I said about feeling bad for the women who didn't know anything about broodmothers? I scrap my point. This next point is so ball-bustingly stupid that I'm currently having a migraine. It involves grey wardens.

The grey wardens, the one order that has the most knowledge about our very being, don't even acknowledge this. They know how broodmothers are made. They know how it works. And yet, they don't care. Either they're extremely confident that none of their woman is going to be captured or they all just forgot what uterus was.

In the former case, they should realize casualties happen all the time, no matter how strong their order. Just as the possibility one of their men could die, it should be put into perspective that any of their woman can fall as well. Their only human. (Or elf. Or dwarf. Or quarni. Or who-the-fuck-woo-ha) While their woman would (ironically) provide themselves more manpower, they would also hold them back. That's right woman, your vagina is a liability. Whenever they pit a girl against a darkspawn, they're risking a chance of creating MORE of their own enemies. One of your top warriors has just become a major supplier to the very monsters you're trying to destroy.

Why don't we put things into perspective?

Let's say you're a nice handsome guy. Tall, blonde, excessive lover of cheese, the whole sha-bang. Let's say you fight primarily darkspawn. Let's say you have a girlfriend. Why we name her "Elissa". You guys are tight. Sharing witty one-liners, playing "tent-wrestling" at night, slaying hordes or darkspawn, going on romantic dinners, all that. **Ssshhhaaammmeee** if something happened.

Oh look, your girl has tripped over while in battle. And without even your consent, she's suddenly dragged away by a group of darkspawn while all you can do is stand there with your signature ass-hat face. You try to think happy thoughts. You've heard no sign of her return. You have yet to receive any gushy love-letters. You start to worry.

Now let's say you're drilling your way through the deep-roads, and you somehow miraculously come across your lost love! Only difference is that she's the size of a small house, is in permanent PMS, and is popping out darkspawn babies faster than Alistair/Cousland fan fiction. Well, talk about a makeover. Perhaps you could still salvage your relationship. Well sure, if you don't mind sharing her with 300 other darkspawn fellows or getting occasionally crushed to death by tentacles.

Now . . . Tell me that doesn't spell out "awkward". If not, than perhaps it more so spells "Holy-shit-WHATSWRONGWITHYOURFACE?"

So not only would they be losing one of their own, their giving about 300 a day from their rivals. If anything that should be tactilely harmful, severely demoralizing, and cause a deep dent in your funds since most of your men are spending it on therapy involving ice cream and crying deeply for several hours.

Again, not trying to seem like some obtuse misogynist. But if you look at the results, they're lives would be a hell of a lot easier if they just let their ladies take the back seat for the occasion, even it is offensive to their strongly barricaded sexual ethnicity. You probably have to pull out your anti-feminism guns for this one, but you shouldn't risk it. It's psychology harmful and hurting to your cause if you don't otherwise.

In the end, I feel saddened, angry, and disturbed. Saddened, since the world outside accepts gender equality, which is all fine; though it will nevertheless lead to some very misfortunate events and increase of broodmothers in the future. Angry because there's an entire faction that knows this, but are too obviously suffocated by their own egos to bother. And all in all, disturbed, because **why do I give a tossing crap?**

…

Is this what cold showers are for?


End file.
